Resurgence
by emraldaa
Summary: Post-movie. As punishment for attempted regicide, Hans was sent away by his brothers to live out the rest of his days in slavery. Bought by a mysterious woman, the former prince soon learns that he may have another shot at gaining Arendelle's throne – all through the powers of a rare and explosive gift. Hans-centric. OC; no romance, minimal sensuality.
1. Home, But Not

****A/N:**** This story focuses mostly on Hans and his development after what transpired in _Frozen. _The woman will play an important role in this story, but will not take the spotlight. Elsa, Kristoff, Anna, Olaf, and Sven will all make an appearance in this fic at one point or another. My goal is to keep everyone in character and have them re-engage later on. I will add more character tags as they make their appearances.

**Summary:** Post-movie. As punishment for attempted regicide, Hans was sent away by his brothers to live out the rest of his days in slavery. Bought by a mysterious woman, the former prince soon learns that he may have another shot at gaining Arendelle's throne – all through the powers of a rare and explosive gift. Hans-centric. OC; no romance, minimal sensuality.

**Words:** ~2,800

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><p>Restrained in posture, Hans glowered behind the outgrown strands of hair that obscured half his face. Two heavy cuffs kept his wrists locked together, attached to a long chain at his collar. Clothes mussed from weeks of being hauled town to town, Hans could only take shallow breaths in resignation, as he'd felt his pride slowly dither.<p>

Surrounding him was a collection of various antiques and vases, all assorted by shape and color throughout the room. Paintings hung from the walls, packed side to side, and lined over the humble fireplace. The cottage didn't feel necessarily cramped, but still made Hans crave the fresh air. His attention wandered towards the door.

His buyer – the woman who owned this property and everything on it – stared at him in amusement from her chair. She couldn't be any more than one or two years older than him.

Her lashes, heavy with powder and imported beauty goods, were dark and threatening. Thin lips were brought into a sideways smirk, framed by a round, smooth face. Whatever was on her mind was his guess, but seeing her hold his paperwork in her hands would never make him regret spitting at her during their first encounter. The auctioneer threatened to flog Hans, but the woman silenced him with an offer instead. Proudly collecting her exiled prince, she tied him to her horse and led him away, flaunting him like a trophy.

He never felt more humiliated.

Hans wanted to spit at her again, but felt too weary from the journey to retaliate in any way. He could have sworn that his legs were ready to collapse beneath him, surrendering to the exhaustion that taunted him ever since his brother-king sentenced him to exile.

"So, pet," the woman mused, lightly yanking the chain. Hans stumbled forward some, barely catching himself. He was drowsy, exasperated. "You should thank me. I gave good coin for you, despite the auctioneer insisting I invest in someone—" Her hazel eyes, sharp and greedy, shot up and down his figure. "Someone more apt to hard labor."

Blood coming to a boil, his upper lip curled into a bitter snarl. Hans had nothing to prove here – there was no need to smile and nod in feigned delight. His patience had withered weeks ago. "Who are you? And what do you want? What would a witch like you need me for, all the way out here?"

A reasonable question. The mysterious woman loved in a cottage far from society, nearly an hour's walk from the nearest town. She seemed to be doing well for a recluse – coming off as experienced and self-sufficient, with a fair amount of crops growing on her land. Why she would need help when her property was clearly well managed baffled him.

Hans could hear the clucking of a chicken outside and the squeaking of a weather vane above. It made his hair stand on end, reminding him that there is a world outside this shabby house.

The woman chuckled, rising to her feet. Layers of delicate fabric overlapping her shoulders shimmered in the light; they looked expensive, but old, remnants from a much more forgiving time. Her voice was thick like oil, words strung together by threads of loneliness. "My name is Pedrine. And I'm not looking for a thug to stomp around my house," she paced around him, lazily dragging the chain along. "I need a light hand for some help. And I was bored."

Quickly, Hans began to process this very carefully. He was still bristling, but the stranger's words resonated in his head.

So he softened his voice, if only to gain more information. "What do you want me to do?"

"Oh, darling," she cooed, delicately brushing the hair from his face. He winced. "I'd never want to hurt you."

"If that's the case," he replied flatly, proffering his hands to her. "Set me free."

"Aha!" Pedrine stepped back, smacking his hands away. "That's an exception. What I can do, however, is a favor." Chain still in hand, she walked towards an old box at a nearby table and told Hans to hold it. "If I am to have you, you must look your best. Your dishevelment is unacceptable."

Floorboards squeaked beneath his sore feet as he shuffled backwards as best he could. "_You don't own me_," Hans hissed again, tempted to bash the green box against her skull. He rubbed his stubble-ridden cheek against his shoulder in agitation.

"I'm not so sure about that. The bill of sale says otherwise. It is your name on the paper. Now, come," Pedrine led him to a back room, tugging whenever he straggled behind. Hans watched her deep brown hair bounce with every step, mocking him in its haughtiness. "I can't stand the stench of you any longer, to be frank."

"I can walk just fine," Hans retorted as his heels barely left the floor.

"Your shaking legs say otherwise. How long has it been since you've eaten? I hear royalty aren't used to going long without food," she laughed over his scoff.

Hans' eyes adjusted to the light in this room. It was dimmer, the curtains blocking out most of the sun. He noted a large tub filled halfway with water in the corner, and a smaller hand basin atop a counter. A variety of things were hidden away in cabinets and drawers, the number of stacked items making the room feel rather cramped.

"You're filthy. Bathe here." A slender finger pointed to the tub.

"What? In this rot—" Hans then noticed his reflection in the mirror.

It was worse than he thought.

A bruise ran up his arm – probably from when he was kicked on the road a week before – and stubble coated his chin. The dust and dirt on his head made him cringe. And he was sure that odor was coming from _him._ Maybe taking a bath in here wouldn't be as bad as he thought. Given his situation, it was the only option. Hans stepped forward, just by a little.

"I thought so, dear," Pedrine took the box from him and set it aside. Walking to the tub, she dipped a finger in and pulled it away. "Ah-! Much too cold."

The prince watched in shock as she flicked her hand to the side, as if flipping a switch. He heard a bubble and pop coming from the tub, and raised a brow as she tested the water again. "Much better. Get in." The scene ended as quickly as it began, small sparks receding back into her flesh.

"What?" Confusion marked his face. "What did you—"

"I'm not cruel enough to let you bathe in the cold," Pedrine said matter-of-factly, wiping her hands on his sleeve.

"That's not what I meant. How did you—?"

"Let's put it this way," she giggled, unlocking the binds. "If you try to flee, you'll get something worse than that bruise. I'm going to turn away now. Undress, and get in."

He saw a flicker of light in her hands, like a match. For a moment, he was scared, but was equally just as worried that he'd hallucinated the whole thing. Hans didn't know which scenario was worse – that he was trapped with a woman who could boil water with the flick of a wrist, or that his eyes had started to fail him and trick him.

Every cell in his body jolted to life as he heard the chains drop to the floor. The metal collar around his neck, however, stayed. "What about—"

"No, that remains," she said, toying with the shorter chain dangling from it. "Just in case." Spinning back on her heel, she told him to hurry and get in the water.

The nerves in his body were screaming, ready to grab this woman and drown her in the tub. _She's foolish to turn her back on me,_ Hans thought, clenching his fists. He bared his teeth, bristling with annoyance.

But his instincts told him to shut up and obey. The gestures she made reminded him so much of something else he'd seen before. Quietly, he kicked off his boots and socks, feeling an immediate wave of relief. Keeping his eyes fixated on her, he slowly removed his weathered breeches and shirt, setting them aside. He planned to burn those clothes one day; they were given to him in prison. Finally, he walked backwards to the water – still keeping his eyes on her - and felt its warmth as he slipped inside. It was comforting, but he knew something was odd.

Sensing the grime slowly break away in the water, Hans sighed. He looked at Pedrine. _This woman. She is not—She is not ordinary._ Elsa burst into his mind's eye and realization struck. _Oh, no. This woman is definitely not ordinary. I've seen this before. _But the sudden surge of heat in the water proved that whatever this woman _could_ do was not exactly congruent with Elsa's abilities.

"Are you in there?" she huffed, crossing her arms.

Hans rolled his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I am." His voice cracked.

"Wonderful!" Opening the box, which creaked in response, Pedrine pulled out a bar of soap and set it aside. "Rather dark in here, isn't it?" She lifted her foot and opened the curtain farther as she kept looking through the box. "Here we are."

Pedrine's eyes shot over to Hans, taking note of various scratches and bruises that marked his body. It appeared as though the few weeks he spent being dragged from trading post to trading post were more brutal than she imagined. Her bias against nobles would have usually made her perceive him as a simple weakling, devoid of any real-world experience as he spent his days being tended to hand and foot. Yet, the abuse his body suffered managed to make her grimace in disgust. Invisible ants marched up her arms, making her shudder.

There was a particular wound between his shoulder blades that looked as though it was in the early stages of infection. Considering Hans never uttered a complaint about his injuries, Pedrine felt oddly impressed at his stoicism, taking in each scar and scratch and bruise. She shook her head and grabbed a bucket – this wasn't the time to dwell on his travels.

Without asking, she dumped a bucketful of water on his head, making him growl in protest and shock. "Why you—!"

"Shut it," she ordered, and inspected his face with her hands. "You princes. So delicate."

"Haven't you mocked me enough?" His shoulders rose defensively.

"Not nearly." She ignored him and leaned in closely, running her fingers along the side of his face, as if wanting to count every stray hair. The scent of her perfume rolled around in his nose – it made Hans feel dizzy and he pulled away from her, the water splashing idly against the side of the tub.

"Just leave me be. I can take care of myself."

"And, no, not yet," Pedrine pulled out a razor and leveled it against his cheek. He recoiled, feeling the threatening sharp edge of the blade. "Hold still. You're not used to grooming yourself, are you?"

Quiet, Hans kept his eyes downcast. The sore muscles that laced his body began to give in to the warm water, relaxing while he fought against lingering drowsiness. Gingerly, Pedrine began to shave him, meticulously cleaning away the excess hair until there was no hint of a neglected beard and the stories that came with it.

This was too intimate for him, having a stranger lean over the tub, inspecting his face, brushing away red strands of hair and wiping away the dirt that found its way behind his ears. It was a soft touch he did not recall experiencing since he was very young – when the servants gave him what little patience and tenderness they had left. Pedrine gently wiped away the dried blood that dotted his back. Goosebumps formed on his shoulders and he didn't know why.

Being so close, Hans could finally see more of Pedrine's delicate features. Her eyes read experience and grief, but her neck had a complimentary feminine curve surrounded by thick brown curls. Olive skin glistened in the shards of the light that broke into the room, appearing human yet armored at the same time. For a moment, the prince swore he saw a scar at the base of her neck, but a bunch of hair had fallen in place, getting in the way.

She made him lean his head back as she cut away at his bangs. Each _snip_ made him twitch uneasily. "I'm not going to hurt you," Pedrine's nails acted like combs, picking apart matted strands until she was satisfied. "Almost done."

"I don't understand," Hans' shoulders were still tense, his eyes switching between being tightly shut and wide from nervousness. Then he decided to glare at her in the eyes. Make _her_ feel uncomfortable – but she was unfazed. "Tell me! What did you do the water? Answer m—"

Pedrine gripped his shoulder tightly and squeezed, and Hans grunted. "That burned!" he said, inspecting himself. No marks.

"Be quiet. Can you do that for me?" Her tone shifted – darker, more commanding.

Hans did not understand what set her off, but he settled back in place. A small bit of fear collected in the pit of his stomach. Vulnerable and endlessly alone, he could only subside in surrender – but he intended for that to change.

Getting nothing but a grunt in return, Pedrine continued to tend to the dirt that clung to his body. Each smudge was a bad reminder for him, and she knew it.

"You know," she said, scrubbing behind his other ear. Her nails dug into his neck, holding him in place. "Everyone's heard of the thirteenth prince of the Southern Isles by now, although the royal Arendelle sisters pressed all the guests to keep things quiet."

Hans said nothing, but simply furrowed his brows as he listened.

"My opinion?" Her cloth was then cleaning the muck between his fingers, which limply rested on her palm. "My kindness is more than you deserve."

Thousands of little words were building up behind his lips, a small army of agitation and superiority. _This woman will drive me mad. _His other hand gripped the edge of the tub as an act of self-control.

"Trying to kill two girls." Pedrine clicked her tongue. "Trying to take a kingdom. My dear, what were you thinking?"

A phrase he'd heard a million times before.

Red hair dripping from bucketful after bucketful of water, Hans reached up to touch his face. It was smooth. Clean. Normal again. With a sigh of relief, he allowed himself to inwardly smile over that much. A word of gratitude almost escaped his mouth.

_Splash—_

Pedrine bitterly threw the cloth into the water in front of Hans' chest, jerking her head in disapproval. "The rest, you'll clean up on your own." She motioned to his lower body. Groaning, Hans wiped the droplets off his face and glared at her.

"When you're done, you'll find a change of clothes in the chest over there. Make yourself look presentable." The door slammed behind her.

_Finally._

The ex-prince rolled his head, hearing a quick _crack_ in his neck multiple times.

_Alone._

The weight of the collar made Hans feel weary. If there was one reminder he wanted to crush, it was the collar. It was dehumanizing.

What little sunlight that poured through the moth-eaten curtains gave him something to think of. Each beam danced on the floor, blooming with color through crystals that dangled before the window. Hans wanted to bolt out of it and, although it didn't look too sturdy, the threat of a woman who could tame fire was enough to tame his urges.

Escaping wouldn't be as easy as he'd initially hoped. Careful calculations would be necessary. Pedrine was smart, observant. She bore a similar elegant beauty and sharpness that Hans had seen in Elsa, but she handled her powers with much more confidence.

_Elsa._

He wondered what the royal sisters of Arendelle were doing as his aching hand reached for the cloth to finish up, stomach growling the whole time. Energy quickly fleeting, Hans knew he should work fast and get to dinner before he'd collapse – embarrassingly – in the tub.

The sooner Hans would get to dinner, the sooner he could find an opportunity to escape. It was just a matter of time before she let her guard down, allowing him a precious opportunity out of the dreaded cottage.

After all, as the thirteenth in line, Hans exceled at waiting, and this was a game he was more than willing to play.


	2. Dinner

**A/N: **The ball is rolling! I hope you're excited to see where the story will go, as I have a path in mind. In this chapter, Hans begins to pick up on little things about Pedrine, planting the seed for a new devious plan.

**Words: **~1200

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><p>Fully dressed, Hans looked at his reflection in the mirror. He found a white long-sleeved shirt in the chest with a complimentary blue vest, seamed off with gold thread. His navy pants were comfortable despite being slightly longer than desired. With a sigh, he shrugged. <em>This will have to do for now.<em> Hans put his boots on and ran his fingers through his hair – the cut wasn't perfect, but far better than what he'd be able to do on his own. It looked like Pedrine had left some of his sideburns intact, much to his surprise.

"I'm waiting!" Pedrine called from the kitchen, voice brimming with impatience.

Tentatively, Hans walked out of the room and was about to follow her voice back down the hall before he noticed another door across from him. Door cracked open by an inch, Hans took a quick peek inside, noticing her unmade bed with more boxes surrounding it, neatly stacked away in corners and in piles. It was obvious that she had a habit of holding onto things for a long time.

A small table to the side had stacks of old letters on it, with a singed family portrait. Instantly, he recognized the youngest child of three to be Pedrine. He caught himself being curious as to what transpired between her and her family, as it didn't look like she shared this property with anyone else but her animals.

"Do I have to drag you out?" She called again. Hans shook his head and rushed out, noticing another room on his way to the kitchen.

Hans walked in on Pedrine adding the finishing touches to the table, placing silverware besides their plates. "Sit," she said softly, seating herself. Her eyes appeared dull, no longer demonstrating the aggression she had in the tub room.

Pulling out a chair, Hans sat down across from her and stared at the food she presented on the small table. The chain clanked against the edge of his plate, so he put it over his shoulder behind him, a bad attitude leeching from his gestures. He was about to ask about removing it again, but the smell of warm food distracted him. Shifting in his seat, Hans angled his long legs so they'd fit comfortably beneath the stout tabletop.

Freshly prepared venison and some sort of vegetable soup made his mouth water shamefully, and caused his stomach to growl. There was a pitcher of water and a small bottle of wine. He noticed a plateful of bread, which looked stale. It didn't bother him, though – Hans was too hungry to care. He licked his lips without noticing.

Were he alone in the dining room, Hans would have exhibited gluttony he never had before, grabbing ladles of soup and large chunks of venison to satiate his hunger. Yet, despite his overzealous appetite, his managed to reach out a shaking hand out and properly serve himself, taking deep breaths in anticipation. No matter what labels others gave him, Hans still saw himself as a prince. He had to act like one. His pride wouldn't allow him to cave in and eat voraciously like an animal.

Pedrine said nothing, allowing Hans a few moments to eat in silence. She watched his thin mouth eat away at the meal in amusement and then smiled to herself when he drank water louder than he probably thought. In his eyes was a swirling pool of child-like excitement – he was looking at his first proper meal in two months – and a somber bitterness.

"I need to tell you about the rules, dear," she said, breaking the silence and his focus. "We wake early. You will be given responsibilities and I expect you to fulfill them. You will help me care for my land, and my animals. When you're done with your daily tasks, you are welcome to explore the property, but," Pedrine raised her chin and pursed her lips, pointing a butter knife at him. "Don't you dare think of running. I will find you. I know this land better than you ever will and you'll never make it to town before I catch you."

Hans scoffed, sitting straight with a hard glare. "And what will you do if you catch me?"

Her eyes looked confused, as if she didn't think the threat through. They darted around the room, searching for an answer, some sort of threatening reply that would still Hans in his seat. Gathering up all the intimidation she could muster, Pedrine raised her chin. "I can give you back to the slavers. Would you like that? Or I can hurt you instead."

"With what—your fire?" He raised a brow, intrigued, trying to gauge a response, trying to suppress his repulsion at the thought of being returned like broken goods.

"That—that's another rule, pet!" She shook her head in denial. "I don't know what you think you saw, but stop spewing nonsense!"

It was obvious that her abilities weren't an available topic of discussion, which was rather odd considering she used them openly earlier. Her decisions were sporadic, making it hard for Hans to follow her motives or emotions. He caught himself staring at the flutter of her eyelashes which topped off her determination.

"You'll be staying in the room beside mine," Pedrine sipped a spoon of soup. "At least you have a bed now."

Dinner dragged on for another half hour, the silence occasionally interchanging with superficial comments about the weather and lectures on how to properly tend to the crops.

"You said you were bored," Hans mentioned. "Why would getting a person help?"

"As you can see," Pedrine replied, waving a spoon. "I live here on my own. But when rumors began to spread about your brothers selling you off—Well, I just had to find you."

Confusion tugged at the corners of his face. "Why?"

Smirking, she stretched back in her chair, puffing out her chest. "I want to know your story. I want to know about the Queen of Arendelle. Rumors can only satisfy me so long. Living alone in the woods like this—" Her thumb pointed backwards to the window, a live painting of trees and birds and the setting sun. "You could use a good story."

"Are you more interested in the story," he asked, boldly raising a brow. "Or Queen Elsa's magic?"

Pedrine rose to her feet and collected their dishes, placing them in the kitchen sink. Avoiding his question, she looked at him with contempt. "Help me clean the table, pet. Stop asking foolish questions."

Hans knew it – she wanted something more than clarifications to spectacular rumors. There was something about Elsa's magic that piqued Pedrine's interest – an interest Hans was prepared to exploit.

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><p><strong>AN: **Reviews are highly appreciated. You read something you liked? Have something in mind? See room for improvement? I am more than happy to hear about it!


	3. Night Ride

**A/N: **Lots of action in this chapter!

**Words: **~1,700

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><p>Night had settled into the valley, engrossing the region in a thick layer of darkness. The moon offered little light, obscured by grey clouds that lingered sleepily overhead. Within Pedrine's cottage, Hans was still wide awake. He was ushered into his room an hour ago and, since then, he'd been hovering over the desk at the corner, staring blankly at a lonely candle. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his pupils kept contracting and dilating with each of its movements. It flickered violently as he puffed onto it, reminding him of Anna's spirit. Even when she was left to freeze alone in the library, the lively ferocity never left her eyes.<p>

He touched his jaw, remembering her punch. Surprisingly, Hans found himself chuckling, albeit bitterly. There was inkling at the back of his mind that he would see her again one day. Too much happened during their short time together for him _not_ to.

"Agh—!" he hissed under his breath as he accidentally tugged at his collar. It was painfully digging into his neck, probably giving way for welts to form beneath its touch. Outside the bedroom door – silence.

Looking at the bare shape of his bed in the darkness, Hans longed to dip into the sheets and lose himself in sleep, but he knew that there were more important matters at hand. Freedom was only a horse ride away, and there was a strong possibility – in his mind – that he could manage an escape. Slowly rising from his chair, Hans quickly scanned the room again to see if there was anything of value worth taking with him.

Nothing but a gray cloak and pair of blue gloves, which he quickly slipped on.

The collar around his neck needed a key to be undone, but that was in Pedrine's pocket. He knew that much and that it wasn't worth it. Hans figured he'd find a way to get it off once he escaped. Before putting him in his room, Pedrine sat him down and firmly asserted that he remained in there. Incredibly petulant, she narrowed her eyes into slits and leaned in close to him. "Prove to me I won't have to lock you in here like a child," she told him. "I own you, and I say you stay put until morning."

_Naïve,_ Hans thought. _Too weak to speak of her own powers – I doubt she'll actually use them on me. _Sure of himself, Hans rose to his feet and brush off his sleeves. _I'm going to find a horse and get out of here. _

Truthfully, Hans had no set destination in mind. All the perks of being a prince were officially taken from him during the trial, reducing him to another blacklisted face across two kingdoms. His brothers mocked him the entire time. Their words – _runt, fool, and ne'er-do-well – _still ran in his mind, like ghosts incessantly tormenting him by replaying memories best left to rot.

Were stealth not of the greatest importance, Hans would have punched the wall out of agitation. Instead he composed himself and crept for the door, pressing his ear against it.

Silence.

Opening the door was a feat in itself, considering the cottage was a seasoned one and bound to give in to occasional creaks and squeaks. The whole fifteen seconds of getting it wide enough to slip through felt like surgery, making his hands anxiously sweat. With a boot out the doorway, Hans made his way to the front door, slipping in between furniture and chairs with a keen eye looking all around. A part of him wanted to stop and grab anything valuable – as a slave, he had no money, no extrinsic worth in his name. Time, on the other hand, was pressing down on him. He couldn't stall any further.

Crouching low, the former prince kept his pace towards the horses, whose sharp ears already picked up on his approach. They discerned his footsteps as nonthreatening, human. Hans stood near the tallest horse – a white beast with a black and gray mane – and soothed it with a whisper. For a moment, time stood still as he ran a hand along the side of its muzzle, leaning his forehead against its own.

_Sitron, my friend. I hope they're treating you well,_ he thought despairingly.

The horse trusted him, dipping its head down in preparation for a night ride.

Hans found a saddle draped over the fence. As an experienced rider, he deftly strapped it over the animal and hoisted himself above it after unlatching the main gate of the pen. What little light he received from a tall lamp nearby meant everything to him in those precious seconds. "Okay," he whispered fondly. "Let's go." Lightly beating his feet against the horse's sides, Hans felt the night breeze graze his cheek as their pace quickened. "Faster," he urged. "Faster."

They were at a canter, going down the small hill and towards wherever.

Anywhere else but here.

He raised the hood of the cloak over his head and ducked slightly, steadying his legs for the gallop. The horse pressed onwards, finally reaching top speed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Hans felt a smile – an actual, genuine smile – cross his lips. The feeling of his muscles contracting and expanding to construct the expression felt foreign and odd, as if speaking a new language. He found himself laughing, rejoicing in this victory, however small. Blood in his heart pumped quickly, fueling both body and spirit.

Suddenly, the sound of a distant neigh caught his attention.

The _whump_ of his heart dropping was almost audible, reverberating like shattering glass. Turning his head around, he caught a glimpse of another horse behind them. Its rider was fiercely determined to catch up, pressing their own horse as hard as they could.

Her voice was like a shrill cry in the night, rudely cutting through the atmosphere in a fit of anger. "Get back here!" Pedrine called. "I told you I'd catch you!"

Desperation consuming him, Hans cried out to his horse before shooting another glance over his shoulder. "I'm not going back!" He shouted.

A flash of light blinded him, causing his horse to rise up and neigh fearfully in a small clearing. Hans' grip on the reigns tightened as he tried to calm it. "Whoa, whoa!" The horse backed up and shook its head, kicking in circles. "Damn it," Hans cursed. "Whoa!"

Pedrine quickly caught up, inciting another flash of embers between them. Hans' horse bucked him off and galloped away. "No!" Hans screamed, reaching out from the grass. He gripped his arm in pain from the fall, hearing the thumping hoofs of Pedrine's horse near his head. "No." Hans shrunk, pressing his face against the grass.

"I told you," Pedrine repeated. "I told you not to try anything, and you disobeyed me."

He threw up blades of grass and bits of dirt at her. "Shut up!" Hans brushed off his knees and struggled to his feet. Pointing an accusatory finger at her, he spat. "You don't own me. I don't have to obey you. You are nothing. You will never be anything, and most definitely not my master! Teeth bared, arms tensed, and hands balled into angry fists, Hans braced for a fight.

"We don't have to argue," Pedrine cocked her head, jumping off the horse. "Let's just go home, dear." She said the last word so superficially, as if the typical tenderness of its meaning would quell Hans' fury.

"Don't call me that!" Hans stomped close to her, his nose only mere inches away. "I have a name, you witch."

Pedrine slapped him. "Listen to me!"

Dazed, he shook his head. "No, I'm done with you. I'm taking your horse, and I'm leaving." His voice darkened considerably, coupled with the moonlight that illuminated his menacing expression. In his pupils, Pedrine could see her own mistakes bounce back.

She stopped him again, and raised a hand. "Don't make me hurt you, pet," Pedrine choked, pulling out a knife.

Ignoring her pleas, Hans took her wrist and pushed it away. He kept walking, and she got in his path once more. Her hand was up, this time glowing. Voice faltering, Pedrine bit her lip. Knee-deep in trouble, Hans finally shoved her down and tried grabbing the knife. She barely managed to cry out in shock. Her hand found his collar, and tried yanking it to balk him.

"You—You don't need this," he grunted, wrestling with her in the dirt. "Come on," Hans' teased, reaching for the knife. "Show me what you can _really_ do!"

Pedrine saw in his face a lust for dominance, an underlying grin in hopes of victory, no matter how bloody. In this lapse of attention, the knife was knocked from her hand and was sent flying a few feet away. Hans' eyes shot up, searching for it in the night. A small beam of moonlight hit the handle of the knife, which was embedded with small opals, giving away its location. With a smirk, Hans pressed a knee against her stomach as he lurched to get it.

As Hans scrambled to get the knife, Pedrine finally lost her patience, and shot out a miniature burst of fire in his direction. The flames struck his right hand, instantly burning through the glove. Hans yelped and beat his fist against the earth and threw off the ruined accessory, now useless fabric deteriorating among patches of dead grass.

"You—" He looked at her with disgust.

"I told you," Pedrine coughed, breathing heavily while rising to her feet. "I told you I didn't want to hurt you, but you gave me no choice." She was not willing to so easily give up what she paid for. The pain shot through his arm, making him go dizzy.

Between not having a proper night's rest in days and the fight, Hans could detect massive waves of energy pouring out of him. Fatigue overwhelmed him, making him roll onto his back. "Shit," he muttered, eyes fluttering. The burns on his arm remained, leaving it limp and sore beside him.

The last thing he saw before passing out was Pedrine's face over his, whose brows were creased in concern and disappointment, repeating his name.

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><p><strong>AN: **Please don't hesitate to drop a review and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading. :)


	4. A Proposal on Gossamer

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update! College is hectic. I'd like to thank you all for the support. Shout out to user WhyMustIWrite for submitting a helpful review!

**Summary: **Hans wakes up angrily after his failed escape. Pedrine begins to put things in perspective and considers making a deal.

**Words: **~1,600

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><p>Consciousness returned gradually, like a lamp fighting to relight itself in the darkness. At first, Hans could only hear muffled humming, but he couldn't open his heavy eyelids as if they were glued shut. The second time he stirred, the numbness flooding his body receded, allowing some faint awareness that he was face-down, cheek resting against a soft pillow. His body was paralyzed by pain and exhaustion. It wasn't until an hour later – until he felt a warm hand graze his bare backside – that Hans sprung up with a gasp, wide eyes akin to a cornered rabbit's.<p>

Propping himself up on his elbows, Hans shook his head and groaned. His eyes struggled to adjust in the dim light, lazily scanning his surroundings, trying to make sense of the looming blurry shapes. As his focus returned in its entirety, Hans realized he was back in Pedrine's home, dragged onto a worn couch by her strength alone. Hans was bewildered and, despite his efforts, could not speak. The most he managed was a shallow croak, followed by a wheezing cough. His throat was dry. It felt sore, like he spent hours yelling and screaming.

At the corner of his eye, Hans spotted Pedrine, who was kneeling with tremendous concern beside him. "You're awake," she said softly. It appeared as though she didn't want to startle him any further. "You shouldn't put pressure on that arm. I tended to it the best I could."

Hans, confused, looked down and noted a bloodied strip of cloth meticulously wrapped around his hand and forearm. The splotches of dark red were jarring, setting off an influx of memories: _Tossing and turning. Wrestling in the dirt. The sound of a horse's hooves beating against the earth. Someone screamed, but who? Then light. Then fire. Then nothing._

She'd burned him. The wretched witch – she'd burned him! Jerking his face towards her, Hans meant to throw a slew of insults but, again, was caught voiceless. His body betrayed him, marred by weakness. If anything, he just wished for an ounce of strength to strike her down. He felt his elbows slightly buckle. Sinking back down into the cushions with a deep sigh, Hans awkwardly tried to reposition himself without irritating his injuries. Once more, he was trapped.

"I did mean to stop you, but those injuries were purely accidental, truly," Pedrine conceded. "Perhaps this will be a lesson for you, pet. Don't doubt my words."

Sharp green eyes bore into her, dissecting her expression with brutal internal criticism. Forcing himself up again, Hans bared his teeth. He mustered up as much energy as he could and scoffed. "I'm not your pet. I'm a prince, and I swear that once I get my strength back—" Hans curled up into a coughing fit and balled his hand into a fist, pressing it against the sofa.

She ignored his piercing glare as his breathing got harder.

"What did you do to me, slaver?" He growled. "I feel terrible."

Pedrine took a deep breath to tune out the harsh words and wrung a cloth out over a bucket, shrugging apathetically. "Aside from offering you food and a bed? Your condition is of your own doing. Now let me see to your back. I should have taken care of this earlier," Pedrine said, wiping the reopened gash on his back with a warm damp cloth.

Hans hissed at the touch but bit back the pain. "How—" His shoulders rose. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Her voice dripped with complacency.

"Don't play dumb. I was quiet. I know how to keep low. How did you know I escaped?"

"I'm a light sleeper," she giggled, lightly applying an herbal salve on his back. "This place may be far from town, but I still get the occasional bandit. They try to rob me of my horses. Try to loot the sheds. I won't have it. You learn to be on your toes out here."

As she finished up with his injuries, Pedrine could hear him grumble under his breath. "We could have avoided this, you know," she deadpanned.

"Avoided this?" Hans snapped, pushing himself into a sitting position. "You should have let me go. Don't preach to me about caution."

"You know I can't do that," she said, getting up to put the bucket aside.

Hans rose, albeit with a struggle, to his feet and sauntered towards her, disregarding personal space. His face contorted into frustration and refused to break eye contact. Pedrine was caught off guard and took a step back, finally taking in Hans' full height as he straightened himself defiantly. As he rolled his smarting shoulders, they could hear a series of low _cracks_ between his joints. It could have been the lighting, or the way Hans' scowl came off as more than a threat, but Pedrine felt the same chill she felt during their confrontation earlier that night.

His chest rose and fell as he fought back the urge to cough. A part of him wondered if Pedrine was right about his current state, that he'd been sloppy and far too reckless for his own good. One couldn't simply shake off weeks of hunger and abuse in a mere few hours – recovery takes time and rest, which he neglected. Regardless, he refused to falter again.

"Please tell me you know better than to pick another fight," she said, raising a brow, but Hans was not amused.

"Look at me!" The prince raised his injured arm, letting small beams of moon and candlelight dance across the stained bandages. "You did this, witch. You, and you alone!"

Pedrine, feeling threatened, raised a hand ferociously and prepared to slap Hans, but stopped mid-swing_._ A second of reconsideration left her with the conclusion that it would be best not to make things worse by adding more conflict.

Hans appeared unphased by her aggression, staring coldly. His jaw visibly tightened, however, tense as he gritted his teeth.

"Don't you dare address me as a _witch._ You should know better," Pedrine boomed. Her eyes narrowed, she could only take in deep breaths to regain composure.

"Yes, of course," replied Hans sarcastically. "Once you remove this mule collar from my—" A surprised pause lingered as Hans grasped at his neck, feeling nothing there. The metal ring and chain Pedrine left around his throat was gone, leaving a trail of bruises and minor welts in its stead. "… Neck." Gawking in disbelief as he finally noticed the collar's absence, Hans speculated whether this was an act of kindness, or a strategy to gain his trust. He did not know what to think in that moment, but a significant chunk of his anger diminished, replaced by a gust of relief. In that second, he was almost ready to thank her, but then thought it would be a foolish decision.

"I only removed the collar because it was difficult to treat you otherwise," Pedrine explained in a rigid attempt to hide any sympathy. Her grip on the bucket's handle tightened, tense knuckles whitening as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. Truthfully, a small pool of guilt collected in the pit of her stomach after the accident – she wanted to expedite his recovery as soon as possible.

Hans picked up a hint of pity in her voice, noticing Pedrine would shift her focus each time the purplish blue line around his neck caught her attention. The prince knew he could work her volatile emotions to his favor and lifted his chin slightly to make the painfully discolored region of his throat more visible. If he could, he would smile. He wanted her to regret everything.

Blinking slowly to readjust her concentration, Pedrine figured this would be a good opportunity to calmly motivate him to stay. She needed to learn more about the Snow Queen, and thus had to compromise, formulate a way to earn his cooperation. "I have a proposal," she said pointedly, placing the bucket on top of a stack of boxes to the side. "You will stay here with me and be my aid, as I originally intended. You tell me about the Queen of Arendelle. After one year, along with an effort on your part, I will let you go." Her voice slowed. "You will be free then."

He pursed his lips in doubt, taken aback by this offer. It wasn't ideal, but if she would let her guard down at some point, Hans speculated there would be a chance to knock her out long enough to escape.

Pedrine must have noticed the skepticism on his face, as her brows creased, exhibiting annoyance. "Look, what do you have out there? How long would you last?" She asked firmly while pointing to the door. "If it hasn't been made clear enough, I'm all the help you have right now. Consider this – how well do you think the other buyers would have treated you? I've given you food and drink and clean clothes and now! I'm offering you a chance to earn your freedom. You don't have many options, so listen to me."

"Or what?" Hans scowled.

The woman's patience dwindled. "What I've said before still stands. I could give you back to the slavers. They'd reimburse me at least some of what I paid for you, I'm sure."

Hans remembered the days spent being hauled from town to town as another illicit commodity. His brothers – not wanting to deal with the family disappointment any longer – had thrown him away in secret, handing him over to a prohibited trade. For all the public knew, Hans was rotting away in a cell somewhere.

At this point, between all the humiliation and shame, he _wished_ he _was._

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><p><strong>AN: **I'm already working on the next chapter, which will include some background on Hans' time as a slave. Expect appearances from Elsa & Co. soon. This fic is a hybrid between slow build and fast pace - I want the developments to feel natural and not forced.

Reviews help me know what you like and what can be improved. They're always appreciated no matter how short or long!

Thank you for reading!


	5. Better Left Forgotten

**A/N: **Wow - talk about a break, right? But here we are!

**Words: **~2800

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><p>As he mulled over Pedrine's threat, images of the day they first met spotted his mind like small droplets of paint blending together—<p>

_The sun was abnormally unforgiving, relentlessly beating down on him along with the other victims of a cruel and sadistic market. Hans was forced to stand in the heat on a makeshift stage, led onto it behind several other people of many shapes and sizes, all sauntering like a train of emaciated circus animals. Fettered in a row, they shifted uncomfortably beneath the unyielding scrutiny of auction organizers and guests. Hans withered beneath his ruined tunic and felt his feet cook in his boots, which were scuffed to hell and back. He hadn't bathed since before the trial, and it showed._

_Greasy men crowded the auction, which was held at an isolated location near the rim of a great forest. They outnumbered the few female attendees who typically lingered at the back of the crowd. Tying the entire occasion together were two burly thugs at each side of the platform and the auctioneer, whose shrill voice maintained order as he shouted out numbers and selling points to the audience, whose placid expressions conveyed desensitization to such dehumanization. _

_Although several voracious eyes pinned him down as an enticing oddity, Hans didn't expect to be collected. Buyers looked for stronger men for hard labor and intimidation, and quiet women to assist in housework and childrearing. What use could a potential buyer have for an exiled prince whose repertoire involved horseback riding, ballroom etiquette, and fencing? They needed experienced workers, not a porcelain doll._

_Most of the people didn't know who he was, anyway. They just saw something most unwanted. Slender, mawkish. Normally, Hans would feel insulted at being last choice, but he'd rather stay another night than be taken by the creeps around him._

_Eyes half-lidded from dehydration, Hans could feel an unpleasant sunburn budding on the tip of his nose and across his cheeks. This was nothing like the Southern Isles. It was warm there, but it never made him feel like the sweat dotting his body boiled. All his life, he thought, he had been searching for attention. With all the eyes surrounding him, Hans wished he could go back to anonymity, just to sink back into a family portrait as a faceless extra. At least then, brotherly bullying aside, he was respected by his servants and his subjects._

_Seeing a strange woman raise her hand and place a bid left Hans surprised. Judging by her gentle smile and the way she dipped her head when greeting others, Hans speculated she was filled with sweetness and sympathy. A ripple of whispers enveloped the crowd but she was relatively unchallenged. _

_Hans growled as the auctioneer handed his chain to her, yanking it so his hands would twist in pain. The auctioneer always picked on him as he was the smallest, a laughing stock. "Gonna miss me, pretty boy?" the auctioneer slurred as he patted Hans, who immediately shuddered in disgust, expecting to be tripped by the troupe leader for the umpteenth time. He glanced at the woman. A spark of hope inside him wondered if this stranger would treat him better._

_Her victorious smirk left Hans with a twinge of anger in his chest. "Hello, pet," she said playfully, swinging the end of the lead in lazy circles. His patience nosedived as she put away the bill of sale in her bag, powdered lashes fluttering as she pulled the short chain taut._

_All Hans could think in that moment was: How dare— do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? _DO YOU KNOW WHO I WAS?

_He spat at her feet. Not princely, he would admit, but just._

_Without missing a beat, the auctioneer shoved him, preparing an abrupt apology for the woman who smugly beamed at him a moment ago. Hans grunted in a spur of being undone and awkwardly repositioned himself. The woman insisted that it was alright while giving him a small bag of money, then – along with a disoriented ex-prince – left the scene._

_The trip back was a blur—_

"—_Hans?_ Are you listening to me?"

Pedrine's voice, which was risen by a few octaves, threw him from his train of thought and brought him back to the present. She could see that he became detached in those seconds. Hans was in a numb state of sorts, unhinged and out of place. Grasping his arms and shaking him slightly, Pedrine only abated when he flexed his jaw to speak.

"What?" Hans said a little too softly.

"You weren't here. At least, not exactly," Pedrine replied, cocking her head. "I was asking if you wanted to go to your room."

His lips were slightly parted and his focus on her zeroed in, as if trying to make sense of an abstruse puzzle. Her tone - it was gentle.

This didn't comport with her usual manner of addressing him. Pedrine's eyelids dropped slightly, as if disappointed he noticed at all.

She said nothing, and looked away.

Hans considered the options during her silence. Pedrine had a point before: she offered him sustenance and shelter and, despite being the cause of his burns, served as a valuable asset in recovery from the two months he spent as a slave. As much as his pride would like to hide it, Hans suffered from a weakened immune system and blisters and all the pains he never thought he'd experience.

And he couldn't help being overwhelmingly curious about her interest in Queen Elsa. _Would she really trust my side of the story?_ He wondered idly,_ if he told her that he was, indeed, a victim?_ What if he could convince Pedrine that Elsa _wanted_ to bury Arendelle in snow, that she was not the misunderstood saint the rumors made her out to be?

Intensely staring at the woman before him, who appeared to be losing patience, Hans sifted through the possibilities. He knew that Elsa was powerful and, with the right type of motivation, Pedrine could match the Snow Queen's skill easily.

He also knew the most important factor of all: _fire melts ice._

So he smiled, forcing the corners of his thin lips upward to feign the hollow sincerity he'd become accustomed to. "I would like that," he finally replied. "I'd like that very much."

Pedrine's face lit up with hope, leaving Hans to assume she never did like the slave-master dynamic. Whatever history lay etched inside these walls, he was sure that loneliness would have gotten the better of her eventually. She may live as a recluse, but something about the singed portrait in her room told Hans that it wasn't much of a choice.

As he mirrored her delight, Pedrine delineated further. "We'll keep this fair, but don't assume I'll just let you run off. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he replied tersely. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Stretching his neck to put the bruises on display once more, Hans allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. Things might work out after all. Pedrine looked away in refusal to look at the damage she's unfurled on him. "J-just go clean yourself up and get some rest," she said under her breath, raising a hand to dismiss him. "Please."

Taking a small roll of medical fabric from the table for himself, Hans nodded and limped to the washroom. He could sense Pedrine's gaze locked on him throughout his exit, measured with an uncomfortable mix of reluctant suspicion and relief.

She took a moment to herself to process what just happened and fell back onto the sofa. Looking out the window, she could tell that they only had mere hours until the sun rose. With an exasperated groan, Pedrine closed her eyes and rubbed her temples thoughtfully before dragging herself to her room.

In Arendelle, birds chirped all around the late morning. Summer was reaching its final days, leading to a growing chill and the crisp burst of autumn leaves across the kingdom. Trees started to change color, abandoning bright greens in exchange for calm hues of orange and gold. The castle was already hustling with work, servants preparing everything for the day ahead.

Anna walked through the halls of her castle with excitement, still in her nightdress, which bounced with every step. "Elsa?" she called out. "Elsa!" In her arms were large swatches of fabric of various textures and colors and patterns.

"Yes, Anna?" a voice called from the library. "I'm in here!"

"They brought them, Elsa! We can pick a color for the tablecloths now! For the gala, see?"

For Elsa, these minor decisions were routine but helped her flex her creativity. For Anna, it meant that people were coming, and that meant music and dancing and laughter. She laughed softly and sifted through the fabric samples, humming under her breath. "I think I like this one," Elsa said with a smirk, pointing to a bold pink square with orange stripes. "It just exudes royalty. I'm sure you'll agree."

Anna laughed and pointed to another pink square with green fish. "No, no, Elsa. _This_ is the one we need! If you want to impress the Duke and Dutchess of Leiftonn, the green fish are the key."

"What green fish?" Olaf interjected, sticking his head between the two. Puzzled, he narrowed his eyes at the sisters. "What key?"

Elsa shook her head and pointed to the fabric samples. "No, no, Olaf. We're picking a design for the tablecloths."

"Oh, how exciting!" he replied, jumping up and down. "Let me help!" Quickly flipping through the pamphlet, Olaf found one that was dark magenta with a golden trim. "I think this one would go well the flowers you're picking out," he said.

"Olaf," Anna said with surprise. "You're right! This is perfect."

"Yes," Elsa echoed, voice dropping as she recognized the color of Hans' cravat. "Perfect."

"Perfect!" Olaf said, and ran out to share the news.

Standing to her feet, Elsa took the book from the table and placed it back where it belonged. Her shoulders dropped and she looked to the floor.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked, concerned. "Elsa?"

"It's – It's nothing," she responded with a faint smile.

"I _know_ you're lying."

"It's stupid, Anna."

"_Elsa!_"

Exasperated, Elsa stared at Anna for a second with furrowed brows, almost like a silent plea for the subject to be dropped. But she knew her sister and her stubbornness. Finally, she relented. "It's Hans," Elsa said. "I don't know why – it's such a common color, but it reminded me of him."

"Oh," Anna whispered. "I see. W-We can change it! If you… want."

"No, no," Elsa responded, raising a hand to meet her sisters. "It's fine. It really is a lovely color, but I'm still taking time to recover from what happened."

"I am, too," Anna admitted. "But we're okay now, Elsa. Nothing will come between us again, and no one is going to hurt you."

"It's not me I'm worried about, Anna," Elsa said, looking up. "It's you. I failed you, and I failed this kingdom. I don't want it to happen again."

Anna gripped Elsa's arms and squeezed them firmly. "Nothing is going to happen, Elsa," she reassured her sister. "We have each other, and the kingdom _adores_ you! I don't think everyone has been this happy for a very, very long time."

A smile slowly returned to Elsa's face, albeit faintly. "Thank you, Anna. That… helped."

"Good," she replied, rubbing Elsa's shoulder. "Now let's go have lunch."

Since their fight, the hours had gone by slowly, riddled with tension all the way into the afternoon. Hans had already started to pick up on some of Pedrine's quirks, like the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed while reading a book, or the way her face fell after every time she barked an order at him, right when she thought he wasn't looking. There was a somberness ingrained in her, and it underlined everything she did. Hans still did not quite trust her, but a part of him believed that she was not proud of enslaving him, despite his crimes.

Although he wasn't given anything to do due to his hand, Hans still followed Pedrine to the garden, and leaned against a shovel. She was not far, tending to some vegetables at the corner of the plot. The low humming of a lullaby floated in the air as she worked. Distracted, she looked up at Hans for a moment as if to say something important, but returned to her task, kneeling over folded canvas to shield her dress from the dirt. Hans watched her carefully, observing her olive green dress shift with her movements. Old gardening gloves appeared far too large for her small hands, but she did not complain. A ribbon was tied around her hair, pulling it away from her face, and two silver earrings glinted in the sun.

"Per our agreement," Hans said, trying to ignore the pain in his hand. "I'll be free in a year. What do you plan to do then?"

She stopped again and wiped her hands together to shake any dirt. Standing to her feet, Pedrine approached a wooden table by the gardening shed and placed the gloves there. She raised her hands, gesturing to her home and animals. "I'll continue to live here, of course. What else would I do?" She responded, as if Hans asked a stupid question. "And you?"

"I'll make something of myself," he responded quickly, lifting his chin. "Perhaps earn the respect of my kingdom back—"

She laughed before he could finish that sentence, fluttering a hand over her mouth. "_Dear_, please. At least be a little more _realistic. _I mean, at least more than what you were thinking last time."

Hans bristled at this, but knew she was right. If anything, he'd spend his life somewhere far from Arendelle and the Southern Isles – a place no one would recognize him. "I will move on with my life, with or without them."

"You are always welcome to stay here," Pedrine said flatly, trying not to appear desperate for company. "The horses do seem to like you."

Saying nothing, Hans took the shovel to the shed and put it inside. "I'm going inside."

Not hearing him, Pedrine's eyes rested on his bandaged hand and regret overwhelmed her once again. "Your hand," she interjected softly. "How is it?"

He seemed stunned that she had asked. Although she changed his bandages frequently throughout the morning to prevent further inflammation and an infection, she never spoke during those engagements. Her face read _shame_ and _regret _all the while, but Hans did not expect her to speak of it.

"It hurts, but only a little," he lied, scoffing at her.

Approaching him, Pedrine clasped her hands in front of her apron. "_Hans_," she said. "I know you are not telling the truth. But let us not dawdle. Come inside, it's almost time for lunch."

Inside the kitchen, Pedrine was preparing a wholesome stew of chicken and barley. She still had a couple pieces of bread left, and said nothing when Hans snuck a piece into his pocket earlier. His battered body cried out for food constantly it seemed, which seemed obvious given his gaunt, sunken appearance. Both tired from the night before, they moved like the undead, listless and slow.

"Set the table," she ordered. "The bowls are there, and you can find clean silverware in that basket. Take your time, the stew will still need a few more minutes."

It took a little bit of effort, but Hans managed to arrange everything with one hand. Although it was a meal for two, his drowsiness in combination with his injury made it difficult to move normally.

The table was set and Pedrine placed the pot onto a woven mat in the center. Despite its simplicity, it smelled wonderful and made Hans' stomach churn with hunger. He grabbed the ladle and tried to pour a bowl for himself, but realized it would be difficult to do so without spilling. Pedrine, not yet seated, walked to his side and took his bowl from him and gently took the ladle from him. "No, let me," she said, and readied his meal, placing it back in front of him.

He said nothing, but waited until she was seated with a full bull before he started eating.

Reaching for a glass of water, Hans felt awkward and stiff. Even the partially filled glass before him felt heavy, but he powered through it. Pedrine, meekly taking sips from her bowl, appeared guilty while Hans ate.

The grandfather clock in the adjoining living room ticked, its sounds filling the space between them like an awkward obstruction. "Hans," she said as they finished. "I wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"Join me," she said as she stood at the beginning of the hall. "Leave the table be."

He groggily rose up to his feet and pushed his chair in. Following her down the dark hall, she led him into her room. It was disheveled – her sheets undone, and her bed surrounded with more boxes than he initially thought.

Hesitation marked each movement, like Pedrine's thought process was ordered in a never-ending cycle of _thought-action-regret. _He stood idly at the door, waiting to be impressed as she reached for her singed portrait. Running her fingernails along its edge, she showed Hans the picture and furrowed her brows.

"I'm sure you can tell," she said, voice barely a whisper. "That this is me."

"Yes," Hans said. "Is that your family?"

Pedrine nodded softly, looking down at the floor.

"Where are they?" he asked.

Tears welling in her eyes, she looked up at him, the curve of her shoulders clearly radiating intense heat.

She struggled with the words, which were fighting her.

Finally, a breath, and she answered.

"I killed them."

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><p><strong>AN: **WOW, that one took a while! I hope you enjoyed it, and I look forward to hearing what you think. :) Thanks for sticking around!


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